My notes are written on legal pads and spiral notebooks. I did everything offline. I’ll let you know where I hid the original copies at the end of this video, but don’t just click to the end, okay? Watch the whole thing first. Do this for me. I know you hate me and think I’m a bitch and I don’t blame you, but please. Please. I can’t trust my parents. They’re probably part of this.

It sounds crazy and over-dramatic like…like in a movie, but the only reason you’re watching this is because I’m dead. It means they got me. My former friends and colleagues. If you’d seen my phone…I had writers from The Atlantic to The New York Times who’d take my calls on the first ring. Me. Not even 27 years old and people with bylines in The Daily Beast and The New Yorker knew my name. I was kind of a big shot. But one of them ratted me out for bringing them the story of the century. The millennium. Probably all of them did.

So yeah, I’m dead. It scares the hell out of me, but—

You know what? Forget it. I don’t know if you’re happy I’m dead or what. Maybe you are. I broke your heart, after all. I regret that. Not ending the engagement. Just hurting you. You didn’t deserve that. But I saw your wedding pictures on Instagram like two years after we split up, so I guess you weren’t too, well, broken up about it. She’s pretty. You two look happy.

—

I guess if you hadn’t broken things off with me for taking care of our little…indiscretion, I’d’ve split up with you. It makes sense now, but back then I just felt hurt. With a degree in Women’s Studies from Vassar, pretty much the only option I had after graduation was VP of HR at a Nestle subsidiary while you saved the world one hedge fund at a time. But not long after you proposed, my senior adviser introduced me to some friends of hers, who introduced me to some friends of theirs, and, well, I could either follow your plan for us, or my plan for me.

So I went with me. The abortion and your throwing me out of your life over it was just the icing on the cake. But it launched me into my new career.

I started as an intern. Paying my dues. It sucked because I had to keep asking my parents for money to afford rent and food, but I learned a lot that first year. At Planned Parenthood you can’t claim that sexism in the workplace is keeping you from earning a living wage. I think they were monitoring me. Seeing how committed I was, how hard I’d work. After burning my bridges with you I had nothing else to do, so I threw myself into it.

—

Stay tuned for more information on Appalling Stories 2: More Appalling Tales of Social Injustice!

Three years ago, Liberty Island published my short story Hold On. I wrote it in response to the Obama administration’s policy of encouraging thousands upon thousands of citizens of Latin American countries to enter the United States as refugees.

In the wake of the recent media outrage over illegal immigrant children being separated from their parents at the border, Hold On has become more relevant than ever. It’s about bureaucracy, family, upheaval, and yes, separation.

I’m not any kind of writer. I’m not John Grisham. I don’t even read except for the sports page. So if you don’t like my writing style I don’t give a shit. What I’m going to do when I’m done putting all this down is wrap the notebook in fifty layers of Saran Wrap, stuff it in a bunch of Publix bags, and lock it up in the gun safe. The safe’s supposed to be fireproof.

I don’t have to tell you that. If you’re reading this you must’ve gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to get to it. If there even is a you. My bet is no one will ever see this.

Why am I writing it, then? Something to do before I die. The TV doesn’t work anymore. Nothing does. I don’t have any kids (that I know of, hyuck hyuck) to leave anything to. No close family. A few friends, but I’m sure they’re dead now.

I’m next. I can hear them outside. They’ll find a way in and that’ll be that. You can’t shoot them. I mean, it’s impossible. So when they do get in I’ll put my Colt 1911 to my eyeball and pull the trigger.

My story A Haunting in Pennsylvania is featured in Creators Unite #2, The Woman Power Issue!

Creators Unite is a magazine that fuses horror, art, and culture, focusing on independent voices and original content. Inside you’ll see interviews with actresses Kelli Maroney (Night of the Comet), Maria Olsen (Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief), Denise Gossett (Get the Gringo); movie reviews; original articles; a tribute to model Kreepazoid Kelly; my story A Haunting in Pennsylvania; an amazing art gallery, and a whole lot more.

I’m as surprised as you are that I’m in a publication that has anything to do with woman power, but hey, I’ll take it. Do you like ghost stories? Who doesn’t! A Haunting in Pennsylvania takes the traditional ghost story and turns it inside out in a way you’ll never forget. And the best part is, there’s pictures!

This is a quality magazine, one I’m proud to be part of. Check it out.

Typically I don’t link to reviews of my work any longer; I appreciate every review, but I just don’t read them anymore. However, Nev Murray, proprietor of Confessions of a Reviewer, wrote such a detailed review of Beneath the Ziggurat that I have to link to it:

I’m a sucker for horror stories set way back in our past that include references to ancient evils that guard certain places or certain people and the oft talked about consequences of going against that evil.

That is exactly what you get in this tale. Add into the mix a little bit of eerie Lovecraftian style monsters and demons, and this story ticks all the boxes for me.

This is totally different from anything I have read from Mr Dubrow previously. His novels can be very in-depth, with huge back stories and complicated patchworks of interconnecting storylines that all merge into one for the finale.

The first story, A Slinking Agent of the Devil (at 3AM), transports the reader to the heat and sweat and tumult of post-World War One New Orleans, when only jazz could keep the dreaded serial murderer the Axman at bay. Rex doesn’t shy away from the lingo, mores, or general attitude of the time, which puts him head and shoulders above those writers who either sanitize the era’s casual racism to appeal to a broader, virgin-eared audience, or exaggerate it to establish the writer’s own moral bona-fides. Gory and gritty if not entirely suspenseful, it’s a fun story.

Is the rest of this chicken a dish you want to dig into? Click to find out!